


Temptation waits

by sirona



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, POV Outsider, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-09
Updated: 2011-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:26:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/pseuds/sirona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert is having the most boring dinner of his life when the couple on the next table attracts his attention. A Christmas drabble gift. Prompt was Arthur/Eames with a side of Robert Fischer.</p><p> </p><p>Disclaimer: Inception belongs to Chris Nolan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temptation waits

There's a couple bickering to the left of his table. They look distantly familiar, like someone from a half-forgotten dream. The guy currently speaking is young, younger than him, certainly; his hair is slicked back and he's impeccably dressed in black Dior, equally-black bowtie throwing shadows over his pristine white shirt. His voice has an American accent, ever-so-slight like he's lived more abroad than in the States for years.

The other man, who is currently smirking fondly at the dark-haired one, is also dressed beautifully, in a mouth-watering dove-grey Boateng, but he's combined it with such an atrocious tie that it rather spoils the effect, like a bum note in a Vivaldi concerto.

As far as he can figure out, this is in fact what the argument is about. Dior narrows his eyes and gestures irately with his knife, poking it viciously in Boateng's direction.

"...unacceptable! This is ridiculous, even for you. What the hell were you thinking, trying to wear this to the Opera? I've booked us a box; every eye is going to be on us, and I'm not sitting next to you wearing that monstrosity and embarassing me to death, am I making myself clear?"

He wonders if the men are going to be sitting anywhere near him; the Fischer box is the best in the Auditorium, and he tries to take advantage as often as he possibly can.

"Darling," Boateng drawls; he's British, Robert realises immediately, and his voice is like honey dripping on thickly-buttered bread. "The stylist himself suggested this combination."

"Well then, obviously he needs his eyes examined, not to mention I'd have had him fired if he'd tried this with me." Dior is unmoved; Boateng's lips twitch -- if Robert's any judge, the man's a goner -- no one looks like _that_ at a man he's simply dating to pass the time.

Speaking of which-- someone clears his throat to his right. His head snaps back to look at his date -- the latest in a series of vapid heiresses his cousin Emma keeps setting him up with. She's holding her empty glass up at him meaningfully. His arm lifts of its own volition -- he reaches for the champagne and refills it solicitously. She thanks him with a faux-sweet smile and looks away again; Robert is free to switch his attention back to the still-ongoing argument.

"You're making me do something I really, really don't want to do," Dior grits out, determined. Boateng raises his eyebrows, politely inquiring, but his eyes are dancing when he looks at his companion.

Dior reaches into his suit's pocket and lifts a beautifully wrapped box out of his pocket, handing it over with a scowl. Boateng smiles delightedly and reaches for it, fingers brushing over Dior's when they withdraw. He unwraps it, revealing a gorgeous charcoal-grey tie that Robert just knows will go perfectly with that suit. When Boateng lifts it out of the box, Robert can see it's patterned, a discreet brush of dices and poker chips dancing along the middle. It's exquisite, and Robert desperately wants to know where he can buy one himself.

"I've had it specially made for you," Dior says quietly, eyeing Boateng's fingers fondly where they stroke the pattern embedded in the silk. "It was supposed to be your Christmas present."

"Milan?" Boateng asks, voice gruff when he looks up and catches Dior's eyes.

"Yes," Dior confirms softly.

"Oh, darling," Boateng murmurs, in the way other men say "I love you", and mean it. He's looking at Dior like he's made all his dreams come true.

Robert looks away; he feels like he's intruding into a private moment. His date looks away from where she's scrutinising the Valentino the woman on their right is wearing, and smiles at him again. Her eyes are empty. Robert feels an instinctive repulsion settle over him, and barely manages to keep it from his face.

He's going to escort his date to the gala night of "Tosca"; then he's going to take her home, thank her for a wonderful night, and not kiss her or promise her he'll call. Then he's going to wake his pilot up, and he won't bother getting changed before making his way to the private airport, where he's going to instruct his pilot to fly him to Tokyo. He has a man to see about a dog, and this time, he's not taking 'no' for an answer.


End file.
